Stars
by DinoDina
Summary: The night after Owen first dies, there's a new star in the sky. It's not there the next night, or the next, and Jack knows he's distracted, but he can't answer when Ianto asks if he's okay. He's not. (Janto oneshot).


The night after Owen first dies, there's a new star in the sky.

Jack stands on top of the Millennium Centre, looking over his city, looking up at the stars, and it catches his eye—there, in the distance, twinkling as if nothing has happened. But it _has_ happened, Jack thinks angrily, and this new star, so innocent, so happy, is so far removed from reality.

He yells into the still night. It's what Owen would have done: misdirected anger, cursing, and too much drink. He would have liked a breeze. A gust of bay air. A squall sending him careening off the roof onto the pavement. Something, anything, but not the silence.

It's just Jack, now. Jack, his grief, and the ever-glowing star.

.oOo.

His coat hangs limply behind him. There's no breeze tonight, either; nothing to weigh down upon Jack and his choices, nothing to cushion his fall from grace.

Ianto and Gwen once joked that he stood on the roof so often that he'd end up on Google Earth. He looked so needlessly dramatic, they said, laughing. Jack wishes he has the strength to do so now.

 _Did you appear to gloat?_ Jack asks the star. He doesn't dare look up at it. If he does, he knows he'll remember how brightly Owen shone even in his belligerence. _Why now?_

The star doesn't answer. There were—will be—stories on Boeshane of wishing stars; luck stars. They're not real. But had they been… the stars burn the longest and the brightest, looking down with warmth and protection.

Jack's first star appeared when he lost his father.

He can see it now, too.

Owen's star is above him. Jack looks on ahead at Cardiff. Owen's dead, but the people of Cardiff aren't, and they're his responsibility. If he looks up, it'll be like looking Owen in the face.

He can't, not yet, but his eyes move of their own accord and find the star. _It is not my time yet_ , it seems to say as soon as he looks.

It dims.

.oOo.

Jack can't find the star the next night, or the next, and doesn't say anything— _can't_ say anything—when Ianto asks him if he's okay.

He's not okay, no one's okay. Gwen is still trying to be normal; Tosh is splitting apart at the seams to keep Owen from going mad; Ianto's eyes, whenever Jack sees him drop his professionalism, which barely happens anymore, are red-rimmed; and Owen—out of all of them, by some miracle—is coming to terms with everything.

Jack's proud of his people; he _loves_ them, and if anything was to happen to any of them… Of all the teams, _this_ is the one he's attached to, and it will be the death of him. (It won't, and that's part of the problem.)

.oOo.

Ianto's waiting for him when he comes home. Ianto always waits for him, no matter how often Jack tells him not to, but Jack can't bear to be more insistent because Ianto will listen.

"There's some pasta on the stove," Ianto says from the armchair, reading.

"Thanks." Jack bypasses the living room in favor of the kitchen, where he looks inside the pot. "D'you want any?"

Ianto shakes his head. "I already ate."

Jack leans against the doorway as the pasta heats, looking over at Ianto, who's abandoned the book. He motions to the where Ianto's sitting. "Can I join you?"

"Of course."

The microwave beeps and Jack leaves to take out the plate. When he comes back out, Ianto's on the sofa, waiting. He looks tired, but they're all tired, all having to do more now that Owen's doing less.

Jack begins to eat, expecting Ianto to ask about the Weevil; Jack told him earlier he'd been chasing one. It's a courtesy to Ianto's intellect—and an insult to Jack's—that he doesn't ask about it.

.oOo.

The thick wool of his coat is heavy with rain, hanging and dripping off his shoulders. It must now weigh at least twice as much as usual—Ianto disapproval at having to dry it out later is just another problem Jack's brought upon himself and the people around him.

The clouds that surround Cardiff weep with Jack—or maybe _at_ him, so lost and confused, drowning in the guilt of bringing Owen back, of letting Toshiko break her heart helping him, of ruining Gwen's wedding, of isolating himself from Ianto in favor of looking up at the sky and searching for Owen's wayward star.

He remembers it—it's not something he'll be able to forget, as comforting as it was mocking—carelessly shining above the Millenium Centre just in his line of vision. Jack sees his father's star and closes his eyes. How many times has he looked at it for advice? For guidance? For love?

"You'll fall if you keep doing that," a voice says softly. "Please don't fall."

"Ianto."

Clutching his jacket tightly around himself, hesitant and lost, but holding a thermos of what might be coffee and smiling hopefully—there he is.

"Hey." He doesn't say _How was the Weevil?_ And Jack is grateful.

"Hey." He says. "Don't worry, I won't fall." He points to the thermos. "That for me?"

"Yep."

He holds it out, but just a bit, so Jack has to come over and get it. It's been too long, they both know that, and Jack further knows that it's all his fault. It always is.

"Cocoa," Ianto says when Jack takes the thermos. "I thought it too late for coffee."

"You're right." _As always._ "Thank you." _So much. Thank you for everything._

.oOo.

Jack doesn't like his past. He runs from it, hides from it; it's filled with so much pain, he wants to forget it, wants it gone, but he will always remember it. It's all he can do.

They all ask questions about it: Why'd you do it? Did you find out anything? Did they know that it wasn't an act?

But Ianto doesn't. He just stands there, waiting for Jack to make the first move, and Jack does, as they're driving back from Providence Park, talking and telling, and it's been so long since someone's listened.

He will listen to Ianto, too, when it's his turn to talk, but when all is said and done and only the little boy is left alive, Ianto is nowhere to be found.

It's cloudless, though the air stinks of lingering rain, and Jack looks up, searching for his father's star. The place where Owen's star should be stares blankly back at him—he has the real Owen now, and there's no need for a star—and there's his father's, a steady gleam of reassurance.

He knows he can find Ianto if he tries. He can find Ianto even if he doesn't try, and yes, it's unethical, but he has trackers in every employee's car, and Ianto is no exception.

His father's star stays silent. It always does, nowadays. Jack sighs, looking away from it, but just as he's about to look down and come back to Earth, something catches his eye.

Fourteen stars, so small and close together they might as well be one, twinkling low over the horizon, almost untouchable.

Fourteen stars. A coincidence, Jack knows, but he'd heard Ianto mumble something about fourteen breaths in the flash before he disappeared.

He doesn't talk about it, not even to offer support—Ianto can't possibly get comfort from stars like Jack does. Ianto gets back late at night, more at peace than when he left, though still holding onto Jack more tightly than usual. When Jack checks Ianto's tracker the next day, he doesn't find anything; just that Ianto's car spent several hours on a tall hill in the countryside.

.oOo.

Owen's hand is slashed and his fingers are broken, but he's living again—beginning to—and there's no reason to dwell on death when there's so much life, so Jack drops his gaze from the heavens and comes back to Earth.

.oOo.

Half of Cardiff is down—no power, no people, only panic and pain—and with it—

Gwen's sleeping, probably. It's late. She should be sleeping, she should be home. She shouldn't be—she isn't—she's still—

She walked in on him and Ianto not a full two weeks ago. Had she walked into work two days ago… maybe things would be different. Had it only been two days?

Owen's star should be up and shining now. Jack looks up. It is. Brighter than ever, brighter than any other star that night, it was a source of support; now it's a confirmation.

 _There it is!_ The thought it hysterical. Owen's star, shining and solemn, high in the sky above Cardiff, is looking over its city.

Jack rubs his hands over his tired face. He spent so much time dead, but he needs rest. He can't stomach the thought of going back to his room. It's too dark there, too small, too quiet. He can't stomach the thought of going back to the Hub, where everything still speaks of them.

Tosh and Owen. His team. _His_ people.

A pinprick of light appears next to Owen's star. It's so small, almost unnoticeable next to the brilliant light, but he can't help but think: _Toshiko_.

.oOo.

His treacherous feet carry him there. Jack's opening the door before he can stop himself; he doesn't _want_ to stop himself, though he knows he should.

Gwen should be sleeping, and so should Ianto. He should be sleeping and smiling as he does, and the person next to him should wake up and smile adoringly at him, and that person shouldn't be Jack, because he'll kill Ianto one day—just like he killed Tosh and Owen.

Ianto shouldn't be sitting at one of the large windows in his sitting room, in complete darkness, his breathing too even and his posture defensive in its defeat, head lowered onto his hands.

Ianto lifts his head when Jack enters. His eyes are wet and his face shines with tear tracks in the pale moonlight. He moves his mouth, opening and closing it, but no sound comes out.

"I can't…" His voice, lost and hollow, breaks.

"Ianto?"

His hands are shaking. "I can't make her… Tosh… she's not… I can't make her…"

Jack sinks to his knees next to the window; Ianto hasn't stood up, and they're inches away, not touching. "She's—"

Ianto shakes his head and Jack is effectively cut off. He turns away, back to the window, and Owen's star reflects in his eyes. Jack rests his arm on Ianto's shoulder; there will be time later for words. Now, Toshiko's star burns bright.

.oOo.

If not for the stars, Jack thinks, he would have fallen apart. As it is, he, Gwen, and Ianto stand strong, and Jack looks up at the end of each day to where Owen and Tosh shine above Cardiff.

Suzie has her own star, too, though Jack noticed only several weeks after she died the second time. It's small, inconspicuous, just like Suzie herself, but strong—that star would shine for millennia.

It's a cloudless night, and Owen and Tosh's stars shine brighter than ever. He can see his father, the fourteen stars of the Night Travellers' victims, and even Suzie—he usually can't. He can see the tiny, almost invisible, almost imaginary, stars that appeared after Canary Wharf, the two small stars that appeared on the second day of Ianto's suspension, and the blindingly bright star that appeared on his first day back.

The Cardiff sky has never been so bright.

Jack turns away from the edge of the building and goes to the utility door in the middle of the roof, and from there to Ianto.

But Ianto, when Jack lets himself into the flat, isn't looking at him. His back is to the door and his face is to the window, and it takes Jack sitting down next to him for him to react.

The tall window is almost always open, now, letting in the sky and the nighttime breeze, the flat protected by an artefact Ianto's taken from the Archives with Jack's permission.

"Hey," Jack says when Ianto finally looks at him.

"Hey."

"I didn't know you liked stargazing," he says lightly, for Ianto is already looking at the sky again.

Ianto hums noncommittally. "You could say that, I suppose."

Jack settles more comfortably; they don't need to move. "You know," he says lightly, "stargazing—looking at stars—at the sky… I… uh, I do that too."

Ianto hums again.

"D'you maybe… well… one day want to do it together? I can't imagine it's all that fun looking from a window, we can check out a roof?"

Ianto laughs this time, quietly, amused and pleased. "I can't imagine I'd enjoy spending any more time on roofs."

Jack nods. He feels subdued, and he's got good reason. It's been so long since they've done anything together, and their newly increased workload didn't seem like a sufficient enough excuse. When he asked, he already pictured them, on the rooftop, sharing their love for the stars.

"There's a good spot in the country, though," Ianto offers. "If we ever get a moment."

"Yeah," he agrees. He puts his arm around Ianto and shifts closer. That will be later, but the window and building-obstructed sky will do for now.

.oOo.

Later does find them driving out in Ianto's car, passing hills and fields and villages and eventually stopping under a cloudless sky.

Jack sees now that this is truly the only place to look from. No buildings, no smoke, no clouds, no noises—nothing obscures the sky, and Jack's never felt closer to it. He'll go back to the stars one day, but that day will be when there's nothing left to keep him on Earth.

.oOo.

Their flight out of Switzerland is in the middle of the night.

Jack holds Ianto's hands. He's not sure if he's trying to comfort Ianto or himself; probably Ianto, but he can't deny how much safer the contact makes him feel. That's how he drifts off to sleep—Gwen already sleeping, and the rest of the plane like her, even though it's not a long flight—all the while holding Ianto's hand.

The dark sky is visible through Ianto's open window when he opens his eyes, minutes later; maybe not minutes, maybe an hour… he doesn't know, but he doesn't sleep well, and so he resolves to watch Ianto.

But Ianto isn't sleeping either. Jack is about to call to him when he sees that Ianto is occupied, and something catches his eye—that same something that's holding Ianto's. They're flying over the sea, he thinks, because there's nothing so beautiful or so terrifying—so isolating and so unifying—as being over open water at night.

There is no moon, but the stars are bright and warm, Owen and Toshiko's stars burning and growing larger and larger.

Jack abruptly turns to Ianto. This isn't natural, he knows, and surely Ianto does, too, and if aliens—

"Just for tonight," Ianto, his palm pressed flat against the window and reverently looking out at the sky says quietly. His voice is hoarse from disuse and raw from screaming, and he looks desperate. "Just for tonight, _please_."

.oOo.

 _Lies_. Again? The worst thing is that Jack can understand why.

Tosh and Owen shine through the night, but once the night sets over Cardiff hours late once again, they look the same as usual. That, at least, wasn't a lie.

He's standing on the lift, about to leave the Hub—go to Ianto, go to the roof, he has no idea—but he doesn't let it rise. He looks up, and there, glaring into the Hub, into their rightful home, are Owen and Tosh. They're accusatory—they would be, knowing his new doubts about Ianto—but so calming. He's less guilty now than before, and they comfort him, even in their anger.

.oOo.

 _I'm sorry._

Ianto says nothing more, not for almost an hour, until he texts Jack's phone again.

 _Let me explain._

For a second, Jack wonders what _this_ explanation will be. Ianto already withholds so much, has lied so often, so what's one more secret? One more manipulation? Nothing, it seems, and that hurts. There's no one Jack trusts more—even with their history.

 _Yes_ , he texts back.

 _Thank you._

Jack hasn't forgiven him, not yet, but he knows himself. He knows he's going to. He knows Ianto, and he knows it won't destroy them.

.oOo.

Ianto's waiting for him. He didn't think Jack would actually come, and Jack can see that. When did _he_ become the bad guy? Probably the moment he let go of Grey's hand, when he let Owen and Tosh die. The nasty part of his brain laughs at him.

There is so much trust between him and Ianto, even with the lies of their past, even with the half-truths of their present. Jack will not let this ruin it, will not let whatever Ianto's hiding from him combine with his own insecurities and drive them apart.

"Jack."

"Hey." He walks across from the door to the couch and sits on it. They're together, not touching, hesitant and scared—Ianto of Jack's reaction and Jack of Ianto's revelation—in a way they shouldn't be.

"I… I miss them."

Jack blinks. They've never talked, not about this, and they should have—he talked to Gwen, he knows Ianto talked to Gwen, but he and Ianto didn't talk to _each other_. They should have. _They should have_. They were both hurting so much—and it didn't get better, not enough—and there's no one but Ianto who Jack can really talk to, no one who can understand as much as Ianto, who can react and help as well as Ianto can.

"I miss them so much, Jack, I…"

"So do I."

"I keep thinking… I keep thinking I'll see them, that they'll—It's been so long, but it hasn't, not in… but for Torchwood, it's been so long, and I keep thinking…"

Jack nods. It's the second time in as many years that Ianto's life's been upended.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," Ianto says quietly, looking at his knees.

Jack inches closer. "Tell me?"

"You saw!"

"Tell me anyway?"

 _Tell me they're Owen and Tosh. Tell me they're happy. Tell me it all means more than I think it means. Tell me it's all been you: Owen, Tosh, Suzie, everyone we've lost; tell me it's all in their memory, tell me you haven't betrayed me, tell me nothing's changed… tell me nothing's changed between us._

"Alright, then." Ianto takes his hand; his own are cold and shaking.

The window is open. It's been open for months, now. Jack can't believe he didn't make the connection before. The curtains, perfectly coordinated with the rest of the room because it's Ianto's home, are drawn apart but motionless. The same artefact that kept his flat safe before keeps it safe now, and they can't feel the nighttime chill.

"There they are." Ianto moves the hand that's not linked with Jack's, and the stars glow brighter. "And there they are."

"How long have you been able to do this?"

"All my life."

.oOo.

"I did it when I was little," Ianto tells him the next night when they're sitting in front of the window.

"Made stars appear?"

Ianto hums in confirmation. "Started when I was little, yes. Just for fun, you know? Sneak out, run around, and… I don't know how or when or why—I don't remember—but I know that… at a certain moment… I was about five, I think, or six… I knew that I couldn't do it often, that I shouldn't be doing it often, I wasn't supposed to be. I've done it before then—a lot—but I knew I needed to stop. So I did. But… it's hard to forget. To forget I can do it, I mean."

"You set yourself limits?" Jack guesses.

"Slightly morbid limits, but yes. Whenever someone dies, I… well…"

It's sad to say that it fits. Jack sighs, nods, and puts his arm around Ianto's shoulders.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you. It's a habit, I didn't think, and things always happened when I was about to, and…" He laughs. "It's not something that comes up in conversation easily."

"I'm 2,174 years old." Jack smiles. "I've kept my share of secrets, I understand."

Because, at the end of it all, Ianto is just a scared and grieving young man who has the power to make stars appear in the sky but has never hurt anyone.

.oOo.

The Daleks come and Jack is _so scared_. He freezes up, he can't breathe, he feels his heart stop, and it's all he can do to stay upright, to keep Gwen and Ianto next to him, because he will die ten thousand times from the same Dalek before he lets them be harmed.

Gwen will not be Ianto's next star.

And Ianto will _not_ die tonight.

He doesn't hold them, doesn't hold Ianto, because he can't move; he leaves them behind because he has to, but the moment he does, he can't believe he was so cavalier, because that can be the end: the last time he sees Ianto, he's walking away without a kiss.

He'll never forgive himself if Ianto dies.

He looks to the stars for guidance, but they're not there.

.oOo.

"I can't do it for everyone," Ianto says the next day when they're dismantling the Dalek that got into the Hub. "I can't do it for everyone that dies, for everyone we couldn't save, for everyone you're going to lose."

"Do what?" But Jack already knows.

"Put their stars up. There's not going to be enough space."

.oOo.

Jack wonders if the stars will go out when Ianto dies. There's so many of them, the sky wouldn't look the same if they all go away, and not just because he's so transfixed.

The stars he's looked at for so long, looked to for answers and guidance and love and support—so many of them are Ianto's doing; Owen and Toshiko are Ianto's doing.

He knows what a starless sky looks like—he's seen it, when the TARDIS took him, the Doctor, and Martha to the end of the world—and the world is cold and empty without stars. Will that be his life when Ianto and the stars disappear?

.oOo.

"Are your stars real stars?" Jack asks.

It's the middle of the night and they can't sleep, so they're half-sitting next to the open window, and the clear sky shines in front of them.

Ianto shrugs.

They could check. Torchwood has the power to take any necessary action relating to space, and has primary authority over it. But Jack doesn't want to know.

What would be worse, he wants to know: Ianto having the power to make actual stars appear, or the stars he _does_ make appear being nothing but visible specks of light and nothing more.

"I don't think I want to know," Ianto says. Jack blinks, realizing he's spoken aloud, but Ianto's still talking. "I've always been able to do it, I've never had reason to question it. It's just a part of who I am, I don't want…"

If Ianto truly has power over stars—over actual stars, that are magnificent and strong, terrifying and welcoming—what else would he have power over? It could just be a fluke, one of those odd things nature sometimes makes up to throw a dash of interest, of variety, into an otherwise ordinary life. But if it _is_ more… how _much_ more?

There are more questions than there are answers, now that Ianto's told Jack of the ability, and not even the stars—not Owen, Tosh, Suzie, his father; not Lisa, who Ianto still reveres and remembers—can help.

"It'll be alright," Ianto says.

Jack, leaning into his chest, has to lift his head to see Ianto's face. He's hesitant, but there's a spark of hope in his eyes, reflected from the stars shining into the room through the open window.


End file.
